


it's not a slow dance (this modern romance)

by fadeastride



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Didn't Know They Were Dating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8450479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeastride/pseuds/fadeastride
Summary: He knows he's a little stupid when it comes to Jamie, a little too easy, a little blind to the rules of platonic friendship. Still, there's no reason for the next thing out of his mouth to be, “Hell, I could do it.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, take this away from me I don't wanna look at it anymore.
> 
> General handwaving of actual hockey schedules.
> 
> Title from "Into the Dark" by Ben Lee.

LA looms on the other side of the curtains, all loud and fast and dirty bright. Honking horns and bits of stories told in languages Tyler can’t place drift in through the hotel window.

He stretches across Jamie's bed, props his chin up on his crossed arms. 

“Dude, I'm so bored. Take me out.”

Jamie’s half-trying to watch tv. He stifles a yawn and scrolls through a few more channels. “Or we could just take a nap.”

“ _Or_ you could stop being a boring bitch and take me out,” Tyler says, launching a pillow at him.

“Fine, fine,” Jamie says, laughing. “We'll go. What do you want to do?”

Tyler thinks for a minute. “I have an idea.”

It doesn't take too long for the Uber to pick them up and weave them through the insufferable LA traffic before dropping them on Alvarado Street. 

“Philippe’s is, like, a rite of passage, man,” Tyler says, looking over his shoulder at Jamie trudging behind him.

“It’s a sandwich.”

“Yeah, a sandwich of _passage_.

The place is packed, lines all the way to the back wall and tables full of all kinds of people. Jamie still doesn’t look convinced.

Tyler orders for them, finds them a pair of stools between a couple of suits. He waits for Jamie to take the first bite and grins when Jamie makes a pleased noise. 

“Oh my god,” Jamie says around a mouthful of roast beef.

“Was I right or was I right?”

Jamie takes another bite and says, “You might have been right.”

Tyler pounds his fist on the table. “Damn straight.”

They get back to hotel with some time to spare before they need to nap, and Jamie's flipping channels again. 

Offhand, he says, “Is it bad if that sandwich was better than a blowjob?”

“Dude,” Tyler says, affronted. 

“Hmm?”

“ _Dude._ That's _sad._ Who's been giving you shitty blowjobs?”

Jamie snorts. “I mean, it's not that they were _bad_ , just. The sandwich was better.”

“Someone needs to show you how it's done.” He knows he's a little stupid when it comes to Jamie, a little too easy, a little blind to the rules of platonic friendship. Still, there's no reason for the next thing out of his mouth to be, “Hell, I could do it.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

It's the perfect opportunity to laugh it off, but Tyler doubles down. “You want a blowjob?” _Stop taking stop talking he probably doesn’t even like guys stop talking._

“Tyler,” Jamie says, sharp. “What the fuck.”

“I mean, I’m good at it. Or so I’ve been told.”

Jamie breathes in through his nose, hard. His cheeks are flushed, but in the way that suggests that he’s feeling what Tyler’s bringing to the table. “Tyler, I swear to god, don’t joke about shit like that.”

_Go big or go home._

Tyler slings a leg across Jamie’s thighs, holds himself up so they’re not actually touching. “I’m serious. I’m offering you potentially the best blowjob of your life here.”

There’s a pause as Jamie meets his eyes, searching. “You’re not fucking with me?”

“Not even a little. I wanna do this.”

Jamie gapes but his eyes linger on Tyler's mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Tyler settles himself across Jamie’s hips, leans in to mouth at the hinge of his jaw.

“For the record, I don't work by halves,” he says into the side of Jamie’s neck. “Either we're doing it right or I'm not doing it at all.”

“That's fair,” Jamie mumbles. He closes his eyes and turns to take Tyler’s mouth with his.

It’s exploratory, questioning, and Tyler turns it around, makes it dirtier. Jamie responds beautifully but there’s something reserved in it.

“Dude, I can practically hear you thinking. Don’t make it weird.”

Jamie licks his lips. “How can I _not_ make it weird? Come on, it’s kind of fuckin’ weird.”

“I mean, I _guess_ ,” Tyler concedes. “Do you care, though?” He punctuates his question with a gentle roll of his hips.

Jamie presses his forehead to the junction of Tyler’s shoulder. “Not if you keep doing that.”

Tyler thumbs the button of Jamie’s shorts open and slithers down the bed.

“Oh my god,” Jamie says.

Tyler tugs his boxers down, licks a slow stripe up the underside of Jamie’s cock.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jamie hisses, turning his face into the crook of his arm.

And Tyler, Tyler knows he’s good at this, likes the way Jamie’s hands hover uselessly above his head like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch. Jamie’s hips are shaking, abortive little thrusts, and Tyler throws his arm over them. He’s down to let Jamie fuck his mouth some other time maybe (oh my god is that a thing that could happen?) but right now, he’s running this show and he wants Jamie to know that.

It looks like bad porn, really, Jamie with his pants around his ankles but otherwise fully clothed. But he's making these noises, these needy little things, and Tyler has to press his free hand to his own dick just to relieve some of the pressure. 

The noises get more insistent, more frequent, and Tyler recognizes it for the tell it is. 

He gets Jamie's shirt out of the way just in time to save it from the mess currently striping up his stomach instead. The sound of Jamie's breath is loud in the otherwise quiet room and Tyler revels in it.

“Holy shit, Ty,” Jamie pants when he finds his voice. “That. Christ.”

Tyler ruts his hips against the sheets, searching for friction. “Told you I was good. Now, you wanna give me a hand here?”

“I’ve never, uh, never done that before,” Jamie says, eyes wide. 

“You don’t have to. Just, fuck, Jamie, just touch me.”

Jamie pulls Tyler toward him, tugs Tyler’s pants down just enough and wraps his hand around his dick. The rhythm he sets is slower than Tyler would do for himself, but Jamie’s hand feels so goddamn good.

Tyler’s getting close, fucking into Jamie’s hand, when Jamie leans down to lick experimentally at the head of Tyler’s dick and Tyler comes all over his cheek.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he blurts. “Why did you do that?”

Jamie wipes his face with his clean hand. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

A giggle sneaks its way out of Tyler’s mouth. “You’re such a nerd. Go wash your face and come nap with me.”

Jamie gives him a goofy smile. “Okay.”

It could have been a one-off that neither one of them acknowledges after the fact, but it becomes a pretty regular thing, showing up at one another’s doors too late at night for friendly visits. There’s nothing to it, it’s just easy.

He slips into Jamie’s room in Columbus, gets pressed up against the wall while Jamie slides to his knees. 

“I wanna try this,” he says shyly, and it’s not like Tyler’s going to tell him _no_.

Tyler digs his fingers into the meat of Jamie’s shoulder, watches as Jamie works, sloppy and enthusiastic. It’s objectively not very good, but it’s warm and it’s wet and it’s Jamie, so it’s still doing it for Tyler. He runs his free hand through Jamie’s hair, behind his ear, down his cheek.

“Fuck, Jamie, look at you,” he murmurs and Jamie’s eyes flutter closed.

Tyler’s gotten on his knees for captains before Jamie. This is the first time one has gotten on their knees for him.

Tyler’d be embarrassed by how soon his hips start to stutter if Jamie didn’t look so goddamn proud of himself. He tugs Jamie’s hair. “Babe, you gotta move, I’m gonna - “

Jamie pulls off, lays a kiss on Tyler’s hipbone as he works Tyler through it with his hand, managing to not get any on his face this time. The way his mouth contorts when he licks his messy hand sends Tyler into a fit of giggles.

“You sure do know how to ruin a moment, man.”

“It’s not bad!” Jamie protests. “It’s just different. I’ll get used to it.”

Tyler’s not sure what that means but he likes the sound of it.

They have some free time before their game in Chicago and Tyler drags Jamie out to see the Bean.

“It’s fucking stupid, right?” Tyler asks as Jamie stares open-mouthed at it.

“What’s the point of it?”

“I don’t even know, man. It’s just a giant bean.” Tyler pulls his jacket tighter against the frigid wind. “Hey, we should take a selfie with it.”

Jamie laughs. “Yeah, okay.”

He comes in close, tilts his head down till their temples touch, and Tyler snaps the picture. 

He posts it to Instagram with the caption, “Chillin with the Captain in Chicago” and slides his phone back into his pocket.

The team’s gonna blow up the group chat later with kissy-face emojis and terrible chirps, he knows they are, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not right now, when Jamie’s pink-cheeked and windswept and pressed warm against his side.

“You should buy me some of the casserole they call pizza here.”

Jamie bumps their shoulders together. “I could do that.”

They end up at some divey shithole that Tyler can admit makes a bomb deep dish. Jamie’s lips are shiny with pizza grease and it shouldn’t be hot, but Tyler’s feeling it.

“You’re so dumb,” he says and flings a pepperoni in Jamie’s direction. Jamie scoops it up and shovels it into his mouth with a grin.

“Almost as dumb as you.”

Ain’t that the truth.

They’re three weeks into whatever this when Tyler skypes Brownie before a home game.

“Damn, wifey,” Brownie says when the call connects. “Look at that smile! I haven’t seen that face since we were banging on the reg.”

Tyler grins and flips him off. “Jamie’s apparently decided he’s going to give the world’s best blowjob and, you know, practice makes perfect.”

“Hold up.” The screen goes blurry as Brownie repositions himself. “You’re boning your captain?”

“Kinda. I mean, we’re not, like, _fucking_ fucking or anything.”

Brownie rolls his eyes. “It’s called oral sex for a reason, Tyler. It still counts. I don’t. Like, is that a good idea?”

“Uh, have you seen our numbers since we started? This is the fuckin’ best idea. Plus, maximum orgasms with minimum effort. It’s great.”

Brownie looks skeptical.

“Okay,” he says, dragging out the vowel sounds. “You do whatever, man.”

Tyler doesn't know why Brownie’s being so weird about this.

Still, talking about fucking Jamie makes him _think_ about fucking Jamie. He thinks that might be a step too far in what they’re doing, might makes this thing weirder than it already is, but he knows himself well enough to know it’s something he wants anyway. He waits a couple weeks, till Jamie’s over on an off day. Jamie’s crouched in the living room, scratching Cash’s ears and cooing, when Tyler works up the courage to ask.

“So I was thinking -”

“That must have been hard for you,” Jamie teases.

“You know what, I take it back, maybe I don’t want you to fuck me.”

He hears Jamie’s breath shudder.

“You really want to? Do that?”

Tyler nods. “If you’re up for it, yeah.”

“No, I mean, yeah, I’m definitely, yeah,” Jamie babbles out and Tyler has to kiss him just to shut him up.

They leave a trail of clothing behind as they make their way to the bedroom. Tyler’s pretty sure Jamie’s shirt landed on that lamp his mom bitches about every time she visits. He thinks, a little hysterically, that she would not consider this an improvement.

When they get there, Tyler crawls across the bed, splays himself out invitingly. Jamie kneels at the foot of the bed, eyes blown wide.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, cheeks burning.

Tyler shrugs. “I’ll talk you through it.” He chucks the lube at Jamie’s chest. “Start with that.”

“Well I know _that_ ,” he complains, but Tyler just sticks out his tongue. 

Jamie settles between his knees and runs his hands up Tyler’s thighs before slicking his fingers. He slides the first one in slow, a look of sheer determination on his face, and Tyler can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his throat.

“You have your captain face on.”

“Shut up,” Jamie mumbles, puts some force into the press of his finger.

Tyler plants his feet more firmly on the bed. “Okay, now, try curling it a little - yeah, like that, Jesus fuck.”

Jamie’s staring at him, eyes wider than Tyler’s ever seen them and his jaw gone slack.

“Good, that’s good, Jamie,” he purrs, guides Jamie through adding a second finger, then a third.

He’s maddeningly good at it, really, has Tyler panting and swearing and out of his mind in no time at all.

“Okay, okay, I’m good, we’re good, you can do this now, let’s go,” Tyler chants and Jamie just laughs and fumbles for the condom.

At the first push of Jamie’s cock, Tyler goes cross eyed.

“Fuck,” he groans and Jamie goes very still.

“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

“Oh my god, now is not the time to be a nice boy. _Move_.”

One of Tyler’s favorite things about Jamie in this context is his ability to take direction, because move he does, a slow, steady rhythm.

He also appreciates how quickly he learns the ways to make Tyler moan, does them again and again until Tyler’s a mess, hand tangled in his own hair and nonsense falling from his lips. He snaps his hips a little harder, a little faster, and Tyler can see the smug grin playing across his face.

It’s kind of hot, if he’s honest.

Tyler presses his heel into the small of Jamie’s back, urging him on. 

Jamie comes first, makes a noise that sounds like he's dying, and Tyler can see the way his arms are shaking to hold himself up. He pushes back and sits at Tyler's feet. 

“I don’t know what you want,” he says. “Shit, look at -” and he slides a finger back inside Tyler.

“Yes, god,” Tyler hisses, pushing back against it. 

“Shit,” Jamie mutters again as Tyler gets a hand around himself. 

It doesn't last long after that, Tyler's rhythm going frantic and uncoordinated before he goes boneless. Jamie cleans them up and curls up next to Tyler. 

“You stayin’?” Tyler mumbles. 

“If that's cool.”

Tyler shifts until he can make himself the little spoon. “S’cool.”

He feels Jamie press a kiss to the top of his head right before he falls asleep. 

In January, the team beats the Bruins at home, a glorious 6-2 win that calls for celebration. Somebody (probably Sharpy) has the foresight to call ahead and get them a couple booths, and they crowd into the vinyl seats, shouting at each other over the noise of the club. 

First round of drinks comes on Oduya’s dime and Tyler swallows his down gleefully. The second and third rounds he nurses, makes them last and last. He presses his leg against Jamie’s and enjoys the warmth. 

Jordie settles heavily on Jamie’s other side. “The blonde at the bar's been making eyes at you all night."

"I hadn't noticed."

"You haven’t picked up in a while.”

Tyler freezes.

Jamie pointedly stares straight across the table. “Huh. Guess I’m just not in the mood.”

Jordie eyes him. “I know you’re getting laid, but you’re not picking up. If you’ve got a girl, I want to meet her.”

“There’s no girl.”

Tyler throws back what’s left of his drink.

Jordie’s still looking at Jamie, full of questions. 

“Let it go, Jordie.”

Jordie shakes his head, but he turns to talk to Rouss instead. 

_Jesus,_ Tyler thinks. _That was close._

And Tyler hadn’t thought about it, but he hasn’t picked up in ages either, hasn’t had to. This thing with Jamie is so convenient, so reliable. He likes convincing people to come home with him, likes putting in the work, but there’s something equally satisfying in knowing that Jamie’s a sure thing - just as easy for Tyler as Tyler is for him.

It's probably for the best if he doesn't examine that too closely. 

The second week of February, the Stars are only halfway through one hell of a road trip and Tyler’s looking forward to spending his free afternoon in New York taking the longest nap ever. He’s just stripped down to his boxers when there’s a knock at the door.

It’s Jamie.

“Hey, put some clothes on, we’ve got tickets to the Statue of Liberty.”

Tyler cocks an eyebrow at him. “We do?”

The corners of Jamie’s lips twitch. “We do. Now, hurry up. I don’t know how long it’s gonna take to get there.”

So Tyler sighs and pulls his clothes back on.

“You owe me dinner,” he says as he shoves his keycard into his wallet.

“Deal.”

Traffic’s a bitch, because it’s always a bitch, but they get to the statue in time to make their reservation.

The stairs are a bitch, because there’s fucking three hundred and something of them. They’re both a little winded by the time they reach the crown.

Long about halfway up, Jamie starts getting quieter. Tyler thinks he’s just saving his breath, but Jamie’s eyes have gone tight around the edges. Tyler gives him a nudge. 

“You okay, man?”

“I wasn’t thinking about how far up we’d be.”

Tyler considers making fun of him, but Jamie’s hands are clenched into fists and he kind of looks like he might throw up. So he hooks a finger into one of Jamie’s belt loops instead, tries to ground him without drawing attention to them. Jamie’s shoulders loosen just a little, so he thinks maybe it’s working.

They don’t spend much time at the top, just long enough to get a good look out at the unstoppable bustling of the city below them before Jamie asks if he’s ready to go eat. Tyler isn’t, but he agrees anyway.

The restaurant Jamie leads him to is fancier than either of them are dressed for and Jamie looks embarrassed when Tyler raises an eyebrow at him.

“Nash recommended it,” Jamie explains.

“Nash is apparently way classier than we are.”

It’s the kind of place with cloth napkins and no prices on the menu, which has always thrown Tyler off. He orders a steak anyways, because it’s not like he can’t afford it, but still.

When the check comes, Tyler reaches it for it, but Jamie smacks his hand out of the way.

“Nah, I got it,” he says, and Tyler’s thinks he’s gone pink in the dim light. 

“Pretty sure it’s my turn.”

“I dragged you here. It’s on me.”

Tyler squints at him. “Okay, but I got it next time.”

Jamie makes a noncommittal noise and doesn’t answer.

It feels proprietary, and something in Tyler’s gut is telling him to fight Jamie on it. Not here, though. He doesn’t want to make a scene about it and end up on Deadspin, or something equally stupid. So he lets it slide, lets Jamie lay his card down like it’s his right or his burden to take care of Tyler.

He’s not sure how that makes him feel.

After practice one morning, Jamie invites Tyler over for dinner, promises to cook something great.

When Tyler shows up, he lets himself in with the key Jamie gave him when he bought the place. The lights in the dining area are dimmed, a cluster of candles flickering from the center of the table.There’s actual place settings and some music playing.

Jamie’s in the kitchen, hunched over a pan of something that smells divine, but he’s wearing a nice button-down with the sleeves rolled up.

“Jamie,” he says slowly, watches Jamie’s body go stiff.

“You’re early,” Jamie says without looking up.

“Yeah, well. What’s for dinner?”

“Chilean sea bass and risotto.”

Tyler pauses. “Since when can you make risotto?”

“Since I watched like 15 youtube videos. Now, pour yourself some wine and get the hell out of my kitchen.”

Tyler does.

Jamie emerges from the kitchen a few minutes later, a plate in each hand, and calls Tyler to the table.

Dinner is normal, or as normal as it can be when he has to talk to Jamie over a bunch of candles.

Which, huh.

“Jamie,” he says, “Jamie, is this a date?”

Jamie calmly takes a sip of his wine.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Was New York a date, too?”

“Yes.” Jamie’s not looking at him. “They’ve, uh. They've been dates for a while now.”

Tyler thinks for a moment, about the places they’ve gone and all the meals Jamie paid for.

“Oh,” he says finally. “That’s cool.”

Jamie glances up, looking uncertain. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jamie's grin is so fucking bright. It’s Tyler’s favorite look on him. “Okay.”

“You know you don't have to cook me dinner to get me to put out, right?”

“Shut up.” Jamie kicks his foot under the table. “I wanted to.”

Tyler kicks him back. “Aw, thanks, _honey_.”

“I lied, I lied, you’re an asshole, I don’t want to be your boyfriend.”

And that, shit. That’s not a word Tyler was expecting, but he likes it.

“Boyfriend,” he says, trying the shape of it out in his mouth. “That sounds good. You gonna tell your brother you’ve got a boyfriend?”

“Can I?” Jamie asks. 

He thinks about Jordie, about the odds of Jordie straight-up murdering him, but Jamie's looking at him so fucking hopeful and Tyler’d probably give him the moon if he asked for it. 

“If you want to, yeah.”

Jamie looks considering. “I could text him, see if he can come over tonight?”

“Mmm, you could. Our we could finish this bottle of wine and see where it takes us.”

“Or that. We could definitely do that.”

It's the first time Tyler spends the night. 

Jamie texts Jordie in the morning and invites him over for breakfast. When he shows up, Tyler's sitting on the kitchen counter in one of Jamie's old Kelowna shirts, watching Jamie make omelets. 

Jordie looks between them and Tyler can see the exact moment he puts it together. 

“I knew there was a girl!” Jordie crows. “No offense, Segs.”

“What the hell.”

“Sorry, I just, I knew something was up. I _knew_ it.” He punches Tyler’s arm gently. “I’d give you the shovel speech, but I feel like you don’t need it. Be good to him, man.” He points at Jamie. “And you! You be good to him, too, you little shit.”

Jamie sputters out a “fuck off” but he’s smiling too wide for anyone to take it seriously.

Tyler stares. “That's. That's it?”

“What? Did you expect me to beat the shit out of you for banging my brother?”

“I mean, kind of.”

Jordie shrugs. “I trust you.”

It sits heavy on Tyler's shoulders, the magnitude of those three words, the fact that Jordie thinks he could be good enough for Jamie.

“Thank you,” he says, a beat too late. 

When he skypes Brownie later, Brownie chirps the shit out of him.

“Dick so bomb you caught feelings, huh?”

Tyler flips him off. “You’re just jealous that you don’t have someone who makes you risotto and then fucks your brains out.”

“I’m happy for you,” Brownie says, and he looks so much like he means it that it makes Tyler’s stomach swoop.

“Thanks, man.”

Brownie leans closer to the screen. “You deserve good things.”

“He's, god, he's the greatest thing.”

With a grin, Brownie puts on his best Taylor Swift voice and warbles _he is the best thing that's ever been mine_ before Tyler hangs up on him.

He knows it's true, though. 

And he’s never wanted to be good for someone before, never really had anyone to be good _for_ , but he knows he’s gonna give Jamie everything he’s got.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm embarrassing [here](http://camfowlersrecedinghairline.tumblr.com) on a regular basis.


End file.
